“Dolly. Look at me, Dolly.” But she doesn’t. Her eyes cast downward, and she tilts her head to focus on what Beardman is saying into her ear.
“Ken!” Bossman’s voice snaps. “Your cock isn’t ready for the show.” He stomps over to us and smacks my flaccid dick. I grimace, but keep my groan inside. I’m not playing into this fucking shitshow.
“Let Dolly help him this time,” Beardman says, bringing his gaze to meet mine. “She’s so good at sucking cock. Let’s show the audience how good she is at sucking him off.”
Bossman narrows his eyes for a split second, but the computer pings so fast, they blend into one long electric sound. He leaves us to check the monitor.
“That’s a big yes from the gallery. Dolly, get down on your knees.”
My gaze darts to Dolly. She tilts her head up to see me, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. Time drags to a near stop as she moves down to one knee, then the other. Before I can suck in a breath, she’s kneeling before me.
“See, just being near him is getting his cock working.”
I’m not sure which dead man says this, because I’m focused on Dolly, focused on my traitorous dick, steel hard in front of her face. I can’t let her do this. The first time she touches me will not be at the orders of those assholes.
“No,” I command in the hardest tone I’ve ever used with her. Her wide eyes snap up to mine, startled and unsure of what to do next.
I wiggle my left hand, folding it inward as much as possible, and yank.
“Suck his dick, Dolly. Or do I need to encourage you?”
My hand is free of the restraint, but they haven’t caught on to it yet.
Dolly frowns.
“No,” I tell her again, keeping my voice low and hard. She needs to know who to listen to—and it’s me. Fucking hell, she will obey me.
My right hand is harder to work loose, but with a hard enough yank, I get it out.
“Dolly. Now!” Bossman yells, moving toward us, the electric prod in his hands.
Adrenaline and rage fuel my muscles as I lunge forward, knocking Dolly to the ground before the prod can touch her. Grabbing it with both hands, I wrench it free from Bossman, who is too stunned to react.
“What the—?” Bossman’s face flushes red. I flip around and shove the prod toward him, pressing it against his fat, fuzzy face. The stench of burning hair and flesh fills the room, second only to his scream.
“Bossman.” Beardman finally catches up to what’s happening. I kick Bossman in his round belly, knocking him to the ground, his agony voiced in strangled howls.
Switching the electricity to the highest point the prod can manage, I jab Bossman’s stomach over and over again. He rolls from side to side, crying out for mercy.
“Stop! Stop! Help! Stop!” he screams, clutching his middle and rolling to his side away from me. He’s gasping for air when Beardman grabs my shoulders. His dirty nails dig into my skin and pull me back.
With Bossman down for at least another minute, I spin on my heel and point the prod at Beardman.
“Couldn’t wait your turn?” I ask, aiming for his face as the other fat fuck whimpers behind me.
“You hurt me.” Dolly’s voice slips over Bossman’s whines.
I kick Beardman’s feet out from beneath him. With the prod fully charged and aimed at his chest, I keep him down on his back. A quick look around, I find a coil of rope and snag it.
“Get on your belly!” I kick Beardman in his side. He cries out, but manages to flip over to his stomach after another hard kick to his ribs.
“So many times, you hurt me!” Dolly screams. I jam my knees into Beardman’s back and work the rope around his wrists.
“Get off me!” Beardman wiggles beneath me. I take the prod from where I tucked it beneath my arm and jam it into his neck. He screams, jolting from the electricity running through him.
“Shut the fuck up.” I shove my knee into his back again and stand up.
I keep the prod aimed at Beardman in case he wants to try to get up, but all he does is roll onto his back.
Dolly picks up a long knife from the tray and stands over Bossman. “You hurt me so bad.” She’s not crying or shaking. No, she’s steady in her resolve, her eyes focused on her prey.
Bossman stares up at her, his eyes wide with shock.
“You wanted me on my knees so many times.” She lowers herself to kneel at his side. “Here. I’m on my knees for you! I’m on my fucking knees for you! This is what you wanted, right?” She lowers her face over his and bellows, “Right!”
“N-No. No, don’t do this. Don’t—” Bossman shakes his head.
With both hands wrapped around the thick wooden handle, she raises it over her head.
“Now, I’m on my knees—just for you.” She plunges the knife into his oversized belly, relishing in the shrill of his screams before pulling it out and thrusting it back in, over and over.
Bossman buckles up at first, bending forward to protect his belly, but she’s on a mission. The knife plows into his chest, and his face bursts into a frozen projection of pain. When she pulls it back out, he collapses to the floor. His hands grope for his stomach. A gurgled cry escapes as Dolly shoves the blade into his stomach again and again.
“Dolly! Stop!” Beardman rolls toward her, and I jam the prod between his shoulder blades. A shout falls from his lips as his body seizes.
Blood spurts from the wounds as Dolly continues to stab and withdraw, stab and withdraw, turning him into her personal pin cushion.
Dolly stabs the knife into Bossman’s neck and releases it, falling back on her heels. Her shoulders slump, and her hands fall to her sides, all the adrenaline and fight fleeing from her at once.
Bossman’s eyes stare vacant toward the ceiling, his lifeforce pooling around him like a sacrificial bath. Beardman whimpers on the floor at my feet, blood streaming toward him. With his hands tied, he tries to scoot away, but I jam my foot onto his chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I jab the prod into his chest and hold down the button, shocking him until his eyes roll into the back of his head as he passes out.
I ease myself onto my knees beside her, giving her a moment to get her breathing under control.
“Dolly?” I say softly.
She turns to face me, blood splattered over her face, sitting in a pool of red. A drop of it rolls down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb as I cradle her face in my hands. She’s so warm, so electric. Smearing the blood over her already painted lips, I study her expression. Calm. She’s not panicked or fearful.
“Dolly, baby, you did so good.” I inch closer to her face. Thoughts of how she feels, smells, tastes, have invaded my mind since the moment I first saw her. Finally, I won’t have to wonder anymore.
“You’re not mad? I didn’t wait for you.”
I grin. She’s so sweet, so innocent. “I’m not mad at all.” Her gaze flickers to my mouth, and it’s the only signal I need from my girl.
Leaning down, I brush my lips over hers, taking on the sweet metallic taste of the warm blood coating them. Her hands grip my shoulders, pulling me closer, wanting more—needing more. I deepen our kiss, plunging my tongue forward, dancing with hers in a tangle of beats and melodies only our bodies understand.